


No Magic

by championofnone



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Depression, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 19:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/championofnone/pseuds/championofnone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After seeing exactly what necromancy can do, Hawke can't cope with being a mage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Magic

After Leandra’s death, Hawke shut down. With the exception of the few days a week Aveline would force him to eat something, there was never a response from the mage. Merrill would leave flowers with Bodhan or Orana for him, Anders would bring buy potions and fruit so the man wouldn’t die of malnutrition or starvation. Varric and Isabela brought books and their company, trying to draw him out of the house. 

Fenris had gone to him after Hawke had carried his mother’s body to the clinic in a desperate hope that Anders could do something, and that was where he crumbled.

It took Aveline and Fenris both to get Hawke back to the estate. 

But Fenris was the only one he’d let in his bedroom; he didn’t extend that to Aveline or Varric, or even Isabela. No one else was allowed into the little space he’d locked himself in. Fenris had stayed with him the entire night, Hawke eventually falling into a fitful sleep with his head on Fenris’s lap. 

But there were no excursions, no trips to the Hightown market, no nights of revelry or games of Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man, not anymore. Something in Hawke had died along with Leandra, and no one knew how to help him anymore. 

It was such a night that Fenris found himself resting his sword against the mantle of Hawke’s fireplace, greeting Sandal as he played with the oversized mabari. He didn’t bother knocking anymore; Hawke wouldn’t hear him, anyway. 

"Mas- Ser Hawke, you’re a mage, you should be able to light the fire." Orana’s voice, even more gentle than normal, carried across the room. They were in front of the fireplace, Hawke kneeling on his knees with his head bowed, Orana’s hand light as a feather on his shoulder. "You can light it. It only needs a little to be lit."

Hawke moved his fingertips, a movement to summon flames to his palms, but nothing came of it. He shook his head and Orana’s shoulders drooped. 

"It’s okay. We’ll try again tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll be able to do it then." She stood, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she turned. She startled as Fenris approached. "Ah! Messere Fenris!" 

Hawke didn’t even look up. 

"Orana," he greeted. "Would you mind making sure Sandal remembered to actually eat?" 

"Of course. Good evening." She gave a shallow bow, and closed the door lightly as she left the room. 

Fenris knelt next to Hawke, close enough to feel body heat from the other but not close enough to actually be touching. “When was the last time you were able to cast magic?” 

Hawke shrugged, as if he didn’t care his powers no longer came to him readily. At the lack of reply, Fenris thought back over the month since Leandra’s death. They’d fought, and Hawke had tried healing his mother before begging Anders to try. When the healer said he could do nothing, the spell died on his fingertips. 

"You haven’t so much as summoned a wisp since Leandra died, have you?" He kept his voice quiet as not to spook Hawke. His reply came when Hawke’s gaze dropped to the floor. "You…can’t, can you? It’s not a matter of won’t."

If he didn’t know Hawke as well as he did, Fenris doubted he would have noticed the man shaking. He sat down completely, tugging his gauntlets off and leaving his forearms and hands completely bare. He rested them against his legs, palms up. He did not want to do this, but if anything stood of chance of getting a reaction from Hawke or his magic, this would be it.

"Hawke." The mage finally looked in his direction. "Tap into the lyrium."

"What?" his voice was hoarse from nearly a full month of disuse, blinking in shock. 

"You can’t access your magic and you’re useless with a sword. Kirkwall is not a safe place." He flexed his fingers, drawing Hawke’s eyes to his hands. "I’m…a walking lyrium vein, as Varric says. Your magic should be drawn to it."

"No. Absolutely not." This was the first reaction anyone had gotten from Hawke, and he seemed almost as surprised as Fenris was. "I won’t hurt you, Fenris."

"You need to be able to use magic, Hawke. We can’t always be there to protect you." He hesitated a moment before speaking again, his voice lower than before. "I can’t always be there to protect you."

Hawke lightly touched the side of Fenris’s wrist, the warrior’s arm twitching in response, but otherwise no reaction came. There was no blue flare from the lyrium, no spark of magic, just…touch. Hawke traced the tattoos for a few minutes before shifting to face Fenris, cupping his hands around the other man’s. 

"I know that, Fenris. But you’re asking me to do something that would cause you pain. I’ve brought enough of that into this world; I’ve hurt enough people that I care for. I won’t do that to you, too. You deserve better than that." 

"I choose what I deserve, Hawke." He moved their hands so their fingers were laced together. "But this…staying here, it’s not helping you. We can all see it. You’ve lost weight, you’re not sleeping."

Hawke laughed, but it was as hollow as his eyes had been, although the latter had begun to fade. “Why sleep? Every time I close my eyes I see the abomination that bastard turned Mother into. When I manage to sleep, I can’t block out the demons offering revenge. It’s easier to stay awake.”

Fenris frowned. “Have you told anyone about this? If your guard is down, Hawke-“

He shook his head before Fenris could finish. “Merrill knows, she’s been keeping an eye on the dreams and we set up wards around the house. If anything tries to possess me, they’ll have a harder time than Isabela does getting details of Aveline’s honeymoon.” 

"I…do not trust Merrill, but better her than Anders, I suppose."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Hawke turned to look at the empty fireplace once again. He disentangled one of his hands and cautiously reached out to the nest of logs and old parchment. Face contorted in concentration, it took three tries before he was able to conjure the faintest of embers. 

Fenris squeezed his other hand in encouragement. Hawke returned the gesture, and managed a lick of flame, small, but enough to start up a fire that could be stoked.

Hawke stared at his hand for a moment. “I don’t know why I couldn’t reach out to it before.”

"If I may?" Fenris asked. Hawke nodded. "I’ve heard a few magisters talk of it. Sometimes in the grieving process or if there’s too much pain, magic can’t be tapped into, as if there’s a blockage in place. Perhaps that’s what happened to you, Hawke."

The mage sighed. “It makes sense. Honestly, I’m not that surprised. I felt sick when I tried to reach for the Fade. I saw that monster, what he did to Mother, to those other women…” He shook his head. “To think that someone with the same power I have, the same abilities, could do that…”

"That kind of hate, it’s a sickness. You are a better mage than he, Hawke, and a far better man than any I have met."

"I’m not always sure about that, Fenris. Sometimes I think you might be right about mages, about me."

"I might not be wrong about all mages, but I was certainly wrong about you. And if you fail to learn that, I do not have a problem reminding you."

Hawke smiled at him, the first one to wrinkle his face since Leandra. The silence that filled the room was comfortable, and even though neither slept, they didn’t mind. Hawke wasn’t as afraid of sleeping the next night anymore.


End file.
